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said, tapping him on the
shoulder. “Could I talk to you for a minute about —”
    I have never see a man move so fast
and, believe me, there have been times when my men could not get
out the door fast enough. This one was out the door before the
words were even out of my mouth.
    “ Hey!” I yelled after him
as he turned the corner in a flurry of bouncing dreadlocks. I
started after him, but his bandmates stepped in front of me,
blocking the way.
    “ I’m not after him,” I
said angrily, clawing my way through the roadblock. “I just wanted
to ask him about...”
    What was the use? I was white, dressed
in black, and looked like I was packing. That meant I was trouble.
Even the gospel choir was in on the unspoken agreement to slow me
down. They shifted imperceptibly, managing to block the door
without ever actually seeming to. I had to push my way past a dozen
of them and it took me a solid minute just to get out the damn
door. Once free, I ran down the hall toward an outer exit, cursing.
I knew this would not help my karma—surely cursing in church is not
a good idea, no matter what religion you belong to? But I was
steamed. I meant the guy no harm. All I wanted was a few
answers.
    The exit door led into a side parking
lot. He was going to make a run for it. I darted between two huge
old Cadillacs, almost knocked down a portly man directing traffic,
and nearly twisted an ankle rounding the corner of the church when
I slipped on some gravel. Damn it. I recovered and poured it on.
He’d be heading for his bread truck. And he had a head start. But
he was not getting away from me.
    God bless the elderly. My man made it
to his truck, but he was going nowhere. A transportation van from
the Eternal Joy Rest Home blocked his exit. The back doors had been
thrown open and two skinny nurse’s aids were maneuvering an
enormous man in a wheelchair down the handicap ramp.
    I had the drummer trapped.
    “ Well, hello there.” I
said sweetly as I slid into his front seat. “Come here
often?”
    “ What do you want?” he
said, staring grimly ahead. He was a handsome man, the kind that
looks as if his family tree is groaning with the genetic fruit of
generations of African and Egyptian kings. I felt outclassed just
looking at him.
    “ Why did you run?” I
asked.
    “ Who are you?”
    “ Who are you?”
    “ Who wants to
know?”
    This was getting us
nowhere.
    “ Look,” I said. “I’m a
private investigator. I’m not after anything but some
information.”
    “ Information about
what?”
    “ Tonya
Blackburn.”
    He leapt from the car and started
running again.
    “ Jesus Christ!” I jumped
out on the gravel, my ankle twitching at the
impact. 
    “ Tell it, sister!” the fat
man in the wheelchair yelled back enthusiastically at me. “Jesus
saves! Jesus saves!”
    I dashed around him and headed for my
quarry. The nurse’s aids stared after me, worried, their hearing
obviously better than the old man’s.
    The church bordered a small farm and
that’s where my mystery man was headed. He darted into a small
grove of gangly pine trees separating the church lot from its
neighbor. Pine needles slapped at my face as I gained on him. Bad
ankle or not, I could move—and this man was not getting away. He
was fast reacting; I was fast pursuing. And I wanted him.
Badly.
    I gained a few feet when his way was
blocked by a tangle of fallen pines. He slipped, regained his
balance and started toward an open field that stretched out on the
other side of the grove. I took the more direct route. I leapt up
on a fallen trunk, took a deep breath and launched myself into the
air, flying over a bush and landing squarely on the back of his
shoulders. I wrapped my arms tightly around him as we tumbled to
the ground. He was not getting away again.
    Oh, Jesus, Mary, Mother of God, all
wrapped up in a basket of breadsticks. We landed in a patch of
blackberry bushes rimming a cotton field.
    Do you know how prickly blackberry
bushes are?! It was